still, or I may mercifully give a deep stroke at once, without having
the little conversation I wish to enjoy with you, before you die."
"Dog of a robber!--dog of a Spaniard!" gasped Ronald in a hoarse accent.
"Free but my right hand and, weak and exhausted as I am, I will meet
you--"
"Ho, _Demonios!_ a rare request! _Par Diez!_ no, no, _mi amigo_. I
will have these bright epaulets, (which I beg you will not spoil by
struggling so,) and I will have this golden cross and other things,
without either the risk or trouble of trying points with you. Hah! have
you forgotten the night when we first met at Albuquerque? By our Lady
of Majorga, you shall this night know that I have not! We have many odd
scores to pay off, and they may as well be settled here on the field of
Vittoria, as elsewhere. Besides, Senor Valour, when your corpse is
found, you will be mentioned among the killed in the _Gaceta de la
Regencia_. Hah! hah!"
"Wretch! you forget that this day my blood has been shed for Spain and
Ferdinand VII.!"
"You have been paid for that, I suppose," replied the fellow,
accompanying his observation, which might have suited a British radical,
with an insultng laugh, while Stuart, panted with rage.
"Now, then,--what would you do were you released by me?"
"Stab you to the heart!"
The robber laughed.
"_Cuidado_ was ever my motto," said he; "a dead man tells no tales."
Grasping and compressing Ronald's throat with his left hand, he
flourished aloft his right, which held his stiletto, a sharp short
dagger, with a round blade like that instrument known as a butcher's
steel. "Now, _valiente senor_, compound for death, and not for life? I
may prolong your tortures, giving a hundred stabs instead of one; but
your dying moment shall be easy, if the lining of your pockets is
tolerable. A stab for every _duro_! hah! hah!"
That instinctive feeling which causes every man to struggle to the
utmost to preserve life, arose powerfully in the breast of Ronald Stuart
at that instant, when he saw the deadly blade of the ruthless assassin
gleaming above him in the moonlight. He felt that his last moment was
come, and yet he resolved not to die without another gallant struggle.
Exerting every energy--straining every muscle and fibre, by one
desperate effort he hurled the robber violently backwards; but before he
could rise, his merciless assailant again sprung upon him with renewed
ferocity, and striking blindly with his stiletto, buried it twice in the
turf close by Ronald's ear. There can be little doubt that this new
attack would have terminated fatally for him, had not two officers,
muffled to the eyes in their cloaks ridden hastily up, upon which the
robber, without attempting to strike another blow, snatched up his rifle
and fled,--but not unscathed.
"A death-hunter! He shall die, by heavens!" exclaimed one of the
strangers, snatching a pistol from his holsters and firing after
Cifuentes, who was seen bounding with the speed of a greyhound over the
encumbered field, and the moon shone full upon him. A sharp howl of
pain followed the report of the shot.
"Your shot has told, my lord," said the other officer. "These rascals
deserve no mercy."
"The fellow is leaping along yet. I would again fire, but for the waste
of powder."
"He was struggling with some one here."
"Your arrival has been very fortunate," said Ronald, in a voice which
faltered from weariness and excitement. "I have had a protracted and
desperate struggle with the ruffian, and must have perished under his
hands at last, as I am weak with loss of blood, and totally incapable of
defending myself."
"Put this to your mouth," said the first speaker, "and take a hearty
pull. 'Tis cold whisky-toddy,--a beverage not often got so near the
Pyrenees."
"Thanks, sir!" said Ronald, as he put the flask to his lips, and drank
gratefully of the contents. "So we have gained the day."
"Gloriously!" replied the other. "But where are you wounded?"
"On the head,--by a blow from a musquet-butt, or shaft of a pike. I
received it on the heights of Puebla."
"Ah, there was sharp work there, when the battle began this morning. So
you belong to the fighting division--Sir Rowland's? You have wandered a
long way from the heights."
"I was endeavouring to rejoin my regiment," replied Ronald, staggering
up, and propping himself with his sword; "I was loath to be absent while
I could lift a limb. But to whom am I indebted for my safety? You are
both countrymen, I believe, by your voices."
"You are right," replied the officer who wounded Cifuentes. "This is
Captain Ramsay, of the 18th Hussars,--Ramsay of the Dyke-neuk-heid, as
we call him at home; and I am Lord Dalhousie. We are riding to join the
seventh division."
"I was not aware to whom I had the honour of addressing myself," said
Ronald. "I shall be obliged by your lordship informing me where my own
regiment now is."
"The Gordon Highlanders, I presume?"
"Exactly, my lord,--in Stuart's, late Howard's brigade."
"A brave regiment, and my heart warmed at the sight of their tartans
to-day. They are a long way from this, pursuing the French along the
Pampeluna road, and are probably as far as Salvatierra by this time."
"Then I can never reach them to-night," said Stuart dejectedly.
"Here are some of the Waggon-train," said the earl. "To their care we
must consign you and be off forthwith, as all the troops are pressing
forward en route for the Pyrenees."
As Dalhousie and his aide-de-camp rode off, the noise of wheels and
cracking of whips announced the arrival of some of the Royal
Waggon-train. One of the cars was advancing straight towards him, but
slowly, as its course was continually impeded by the dead and wounded
lying across its way. An officer of the train, with an immense plume in
his cocked-hat, and wearing the rich uniform of this easy branch of the
service, rode beside the waggon, into which they were putting those
wounded men whose cries attracted their attention.
"The heights of Puebla?" said the waggon-officer, in a tone of surprise
and expostulation to another who rode beside him. "Oh! it is quite
impossible to detach any of my party so far."
"How, sir! so far?" replied the other angrily, in the voice of Major
Campbell. "And is a brave lad to bleed to death and have his bones
picked by the corbies, because a loon like you is afraid to climb a
hill? By the Lord! he shall not perish through the neglect of one like
you, whose whole share of a battle is seeing the smoke and hearing the
noise at a comfortable distance, and then coming in with these infernal
rattle-traps to pick up the wounded when the danger is all over."
He of the waggons was too much enraged to reply readily; and before he
could speak, Ronald heard the voices of Macdonald and Evan Iverach.
"Come, major, don't quarrel about it. I am afraid that it will be a
fruitless errand seeking Stuart among the heights. Poor fellow! I am
too sure he was quite dead when we passed him this morning."
"Oh, Mr. Macdonald, dinna say sae!" groaned Evan, who had been lamenting
as they came along, "dinna say sae! I have had an awfu' day o' wae and
anxiety upon his account. There he is--God preserve me in my senses!
No, my een dinna deceive me,--there he is!" cried Evan in a voice rising
into a scream nearly, while he rushed forward as Stuart's figure, moving
slowly towards them, met his view. Evan, as usual, began to caper and
dance, blubber and weep with joy, while Campbell and Alister warmly
shook the hand of his master.
"Ha, Stuart, my lad! I knew you were hard to kill," said Campbell; "and
so, in spite of Alister's assertions that you were gone 'to the land of
the leal,' I determined to set out in search of you as soon as the
regiment halted. Old Ludovick Lisle of ours would have been buried
alive, once upon a time, in Egypt, but for my interference. He had been
struck down by an iron mace in some brawl with a loon of a Mameluke, and
I knew that he was only stunned; so I poured a glass of brandy down his
throat, and brandy never failed to bring old Ludovick to, whatever was
the matter."
Ronald objected to entering the waggon, which was already crowded, and
the bottom of it was covered with blood; so it moved off, the officer
telling Campbell he should hear from him in the morning. The major
replied that he should be very happy, and dismounting, gave his horse to
Stuart; who, as they moved along, gave a report of his encounter with
Cifuentes and interview with Lord Dalhousie.
"He is a brave man, and a good officer," said Campbell. "And as for
Ramsay, of the Dyke-neuk-heid, he is, though a Lowlander, one of the
finest fellows I ever met, and the best mixer of Athol brose and
whisky-punch in the three kingdoms. But we must move forward as fast as
possible. Spur up this nag, Stuart; he was a French dragoon horse this
morning, but has changed masters. My poor Rosinante, on which you ran
such a rig at Almarez, was shot under me as we ascended the heights.
Cameron likewise had his horse killed under him; and, to make the matter
worse, had another killed over him, by which he was confoundedly
bruised."
"But I see, major, that your left arm is in a sling."
"I received a scratch from the sabre of a French sub, who assailed me
before I could draw Andrea; but I knocked him down with my stick,
disarmed and took him prisoner."
"Well, Alister, I rejoice to see you have escaped this time; and Evan,
my trusty fellow, too."
"A' sound and haill, sir; but I had a narrow escape frae a sharp-shooter
birkie, wha put three shot through my bonnet just before the regiment
cam' rattling doon the brae to our assistance."
"And how have the corps fared throughout this eventful day?"
"Easily indeed," replied Macdonald, "considering how our friends the
71st and the 50th have been cut up."
"Where is the regiment?"
"Bivouacked a few miles in front of Vittoria. None of the officers are
killed, but some are wounded,--Cameron by the fall of his horse, which
was killed by a twelve-pound shot, and Seaton had his left arm shot
through; but the moment it was dressed he rejoined, and is probably now
with his 'light bobs.' At the foot of the hills we lost a Serjeant and
many men by the fire of the enemy's cannon, but--"
"But we had our vengeance to the full," cried Campbell, brandishing his
stick. "They have lost as much as was ever tint at Shirra-muir.
Forgetting the crown of Spain, only think, Stuart my man,--one hundred
and fifty splendid pieces of ordnance, four hundred caissons laden with
Lord knows what, the plunder of all Spain, perhaps! some millions of
musquet cartridges, the baggage of the army, the military chest, colours
and drums innumerable, and the baton of Jourdan, which he dropped in his
hurry or fright. But the military chest--by Jove! had you seen how free
the 18th Hussars made with it,--every rascal of them stuffing his boots
to the brim with gold Napoleons! There will be a devil of a row kicked
up about it at the Horse Guards, you may be sure of that. We have
captured I know not how many carriages, every one full of the ladies of
Joseph's court: rare work we have had with them! Alister, with twenty
men, gallantly stormed one vehicle at the point of the bayonet, and
seized four terrified young ladies,--one of whom I believe is the
Countess de Gazan, wife of the general of the same name."
"How horrified the poor creatures were!" said Macdonald. "One train of
court-carriages, in flying away at full gallop to escape Graham's
division, which had intercepted their flight to Bayonne, came among us,
and were, of course, compelled to halt. But they were treated with all
due gallantry and honour."
"Especially by Blacier's riflemen, who dragged some ladies out without
ceremony, and rummaged them over like so many custom-house officers; and
with their bayonets tore and ripped up the rich silk lining of the
carriages, in hopes of finding concealed jewellery."
"Germans are more proverbial for their greed, than for devotion to the
gentler sex. But Lord Wellington has despatched the ladies away to the
rear, among the prisoners taken in the battle."
"A knowing chield!" said the major. "Some of these French girls are
pretty enough to turn the hearts and heads of their captors. Arthur
knew that, and thought them safer _en route_ for Belem, than in the
midst of his army. By my word! 'tis a devil of a thing to hear a sweet
young girl, with bright black eyes, cherry lips, &c. &c., imploring you
in most dulcet French to spare her life, and all that. What the deuce!
Some of these fair creatures to-day seemed to think they had got among
an army of ghoules or ogres, instead of honest British soldiers."
"I forgive their terror," answered Ronald. "Only imagine what would be
the feelings of British ladies, falling as these did into the hands of a
foreign army, flushed and fierce with the excitement of such a battle,
the blood and glory of such a victory!"
On entering the town of Vittoria, they found it filled with French and
British wounded; and the numbers were increasing, as the waggons went to
and fro between the field and town, which soon became converted into an
hospital. Cries, groans, and thrilling exclamations of suffering rang
from every house; and men were lying in ranks below the piazzas of the
market-place, waiting till their wounds could be looked to; and in every
street lay scores of weary and maimed soldiers, who, unable to proceed
further, had sunk down bleeding and expiring, helpless as babes, without
a hand to close their eyes.
Stuart's wound was of too little importance to procure immediate
attendance, all the surgeons being hard at work, with their shirt
sleeves turned up, hewing off legs and arms mercilessly, as was their
will and pleasure in those days. On with the tourniquet, and off with
the limb, was the mode then; any attempt to reduce a fracture being
considered a waste of time, and a style of cure troublesome alike to
patient and physician. After searching about for some time to find a
son of Esculapius unemployed, but without success, they adjourned to a
cafe immediately within the Santa Clara gate.
The large drinking-room was crowded with officers, some of whom had got
their scars dressed, and, in defiance of the orders of _el medico_, were
quaffing horn after horn of the country wine, in honour of the victory.
Seaton, with his arm slung, was thus employed in one corner with an
officer of the 50th, whose head was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief.
Many others were in the same trim; and the conversation consisted of
loud and boisterous observations and criticisms on this and that
movement--the advance of one division, the retreat of
another--promotion, brevet, thanks of parliament, a medal,--and so on;
and all were lavish in their animadversions on the 18th Hussars, for
making so free with the military chest. Their observations were often
mingled with loud and reckless military merriment, and an occasional
hearty malediction on some wound which would not cease bleeding, or an
exclamation of pain at the twinges it gave. Many Spanish officers were
sitting over chess-tables, absorbed in their favourite national game,
forgetting altogether, in the interest which it excited, the battle so
recently gained, and which was of so much importance to the liberties of
their country. But it has been truly remarked by some one, that, give
the Spaniard his cigar, his sun-shine, his _querido_, and amusements,
and it is all one to him whether Spain is ruled by a Solon or a
Caligula.
In another corner of the drinking-room, a Spanish colonel was sitting
coolly with a napkin and brass bason under his chin, undergoing the
operation of being shaved by the senior surgeon of his regiment, as it
is, or was, the duty of that officer to take off the colonel's beard
every morning, or whenever required. So much for the dignity of the
medical profession in Spain.
Enveloped in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, which left no part of him visible
but his twinkling grey eyes and red snub nose, Captain Blacier occupied
the opposite corner, busy in preparing a luxurious German dish, the
ingredients for which he produced from the havresack of glazed canvas
which he carried with his blanket on his back. A large tin trencher
stood before him, and into it he was shredding a cabbage, which he had
picked up when skirmishing in the neighbourhood of Salvatierra the
preceding day; and after sprinkling over it pepper, salt, vinegar, and
garlic, he began to eat with infinite relish.
After getting his wound dressed by the Spanish medico, and after
drinking a few horns of _agua y vino_, Ronald procured a light
forage-cap in place of his heavy plumed bonnet, and accompanied by
Seaton and those who found him on the field, he set out for the
regiment, which, with Hill's whole division, lay bivouacked six miles in
front of Vittoria, where, after pursuing the French till past midnight,
they had halted.
On being accommodated with a horse, Ronald was enabled to accompany the
troops, which moved next day to drive the enemy across the Pyrenees.
Acting with his usual promptitude, Wellington pushed onward with the
third, fourth, and light divisions to Pampeluna, whence the ex-king
Joseph, with the greater part of his shattered host, retired into France
by the famous pass of Roncesvalles; while the rest, under the command of
General Gazan, retired by the vale of El Bastan.
Lord Wellington surrounded Pampeluna, which was yet held by a French
garrison; and Graham, who with the left wing of the allies had pursued
the retreating enemy on the great road for France, came up with a corps
near Tolosa, which he attacked and defeated, and driving them across the
Bidassoa, boldly invested the strong fortress of San Sebastian, from the
towers of which yet waved the tri-colour and the standard of King
Joseph.
*CHAPTER VII.*
*AN OUT-PICQUET ADVENTURE.*
"Far, far away, in a strange country,
The soldier watch is keeping,
Beneath some tower at midnight hour,
When all besides are sleeping."
_Scots Song._
To prevent the French from possessing themselves of the Maya heights,
Wellington directed the Earl of Dalhousie, with his division, to
threaten them by moving on San Estevan; while Sir Rowland Hill, with the
first and three others of his brigades, made a similar demonstration, by
marching through the wild and romantic pass of Lanz.
Along the whole line of march from Vittoria to the Pyrenees, a distance
of about one hundred miles, the roads were strewed with dead or
abandoned horses, broken waggons, dilapidated carriages, military
caissons, and clothing of every kind; uniforms of officers, rich
dresses, laces, veils, and gloves of ladies, which were torn forth from
mails and imperials by the rude hands of guerillas and cacadores, and
scattered about everywhere; thousands of French commissariat returns,
bundles of bank-notes, and packets of letters, written to many who then
lay cold beneath the turf at Vittoria, were scattered over the ground by
which the French had retired. Many poor stragglers, disabled by wounds
or starvation, fell into the hands of the conquerors, and with others
many ladies of Joseph's court, who on escaping, when the carriages were
taken by Graham's division, had attempted to make their way to the
Pyrenees by passing through wild and unfrequented places. Many of these
unfortunate creatures fell into the power of the Spaniards, and were
treated in a manner too barbarous to relate; and others were seen by the
gentler British, fainting, expiring, or dead by the way-side,
bare-footed, almost naked, and reduced to the most pitiable condition.
All who were found alive were sent under an escort to the rear, to be
placed among the other prisoners.
The great chain of the Pyrenees was now before the victors, and on the
3rd of July, Hill, with his four brigades, began to ascend the heights.
After a harassing march through that deep gorge among the mountains
which takes its name from the town of Lanz, they came in view of the
out-picquets of General Gazan's corps, and arrangements were made to
drive them in forthwith. Led by Fassifern, the first brigade moved
through the most solitary passes of the mountains by a village named
Almandos, and took up a position on the left of Gazan's out-posts, upon
which Sir Rowland gave orders to attack them in front. On finding that
Cameron had turned their flank so effectually, they retired, firing by
the way, and reached their main body at Barreta, where a sharp skirmish
took place, in which the Conde d'Amarante's Portuguese suffered
considerably.
Next day, Gazan retired precipitately through Elizondo followed by the
Portuguese, who were eager to revenge the slaughter of their comrades in
the preceding day's skirmish, and the troops resumed their march towards
the heights of Maya.
"Cheerily now, Highlandmen!" cried Campbell, flourishing his cudgel, as
he spurred his horse past the heavily accoutred sections, who were
toiling up the mountains; "hold cheerily on, my lads! Set a stout heart
to a stey brae,--ye mind the old saying at home: ye'll soon see the high
road to Britain, the way we must all go, ere we see the curl of our ain
peat-reek."
A few hours' march brought them to the summits of the Pyrenees, and afar
off was seen the ocean, which they had not beheld for so long. It was
the way to their homes, and from a simultaneous feeling, which inspired
every man, three hearty cheers awoke the echoes of the mountains; caps
and bonnets were tossed into the air,--the bands struck up "Rule
Britannia," and the pipers blew till their faces grew purple and black.
The brigades halted for a few minutes, and a dead silence succeeded the
first outbreak of their joy. Every man's breast seemed swelling with
emotions, which he found it impossible to communicate; but he read in
the faces of his comrades the same joy which quickened the pulses of his
own heart. The sea,--the same deep-heaving sea which swept around the
rocks and shores of their own country, now spread its broad bosom before
them; and long and wistfully they gazed on the white sails of the
solitary British cruisers, which here and there dotted the dark-blue
waters of the Bay of Biscay. The green ridges of the Lower Pyrenees,
the fertile plains and wooded vales of France, lay spread at their feet
like a brightly-tinted map. Saint Jean de Luz, the famous and opulent
Bayonne, and a thousand minor towns and villages were seen from those
lofty summits, now trod by British soldiers for the first time. Behind
them lay sunny Espana, through which they had toiled and fought their
way, and where many a comrade had found his grave,--but no man looked to
the rear. Every eye was turned to the north,--on France, which lay
below them. But stern and bloody work was awaiting them, and many a one
whose heart then bounded with thoughts of his native home, and with a
thousand inexpressible hopes, wishes, and fond anticipations, was doomed
to find his last resting-place on these very heights of Maya.
That night the troops bivouacked on the mountain side, a league in front
of Elizondo. As it was generally his luck after any march which had
been particularly long and tiresome, Ronald Stuart had command of an
advanced picquet, forming one of the chain thrown out in the direction
of Gazan's division, which had taken up a position lower down the
mountains with the determination to dispute every inch of ground that
led to _la belle France_,--a resolution which the Marquess of Wellington
determined to put to the test next day. Stuart's orders were to visit
his sentries every hour throughout the night, to keep them on the alert;
a duty which proved very harassing after so long a march, as it was
almost impossible to sleep in the short intervals between the rounds.
However, fretting would not have bettered the affair, and rolling
himself up in his cloak, he resolved to make himself as comfortable as
he possibly could. A huge fire lighted by the soldiers lessened the
cold, and counteracted the effects of a heavy wetting dew, which falls
amid these mountains at almost every season.